


Night had delved deep.

by zesulin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Here Lies the Abyss, Multi, Vignette, Warden visits Skyhold, everyone hangs out at the herald's rest and it's pretty cool and then it's sad, this is basically just pointless blabing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6781426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zesulin/pseuds/zesulin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re shitting me,” The dwarf is saying from across the table, his wily smile widening. Aella takes a swig from her flagon, and then offers a toothy grin. </p><p>“Not a bit. He really did,” by her side, her husband groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “--Oh, come on, Lo. It was cute.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night had delved deep.

**Author's Note:**

> this ain't even good guys but here i am giving u my awful shite please enjoy okay, 
> 
>  
> 
> also yes, they do have a kid. they have several kids. they are very cute. 
> 
> warden is: [aella tabris](http://emeraldknight.co.vu/tagged/ocs*)

“You’re shitting me,” The dwarf is saying from across the table, his wily smile widening. Aella takes a swig from her flagon, and then offers a toothy grin. 

“Not a bit. He really did,” by her side, her husband groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “--Oh, come on, Lo. It was cute.”

“It wasn’t cute. It was stupid.” 

“Anyone would have screamed like a little girl.” 

“You didn’t.” 

“No, but I nearly pissed my pants.” 

Loghain rolls his eyes, but can’t help but crack a smile. It’s almost like old times, here-- He’s reminded of late nights at the Crown and Lion with Aella’s crew-- a rag-tag bunch of Wardens, and nothing but drink and song for a night. Here, the sense of urgency still permeates the very air. It all feels so very...temporary. As if this could all fall apart in a moment. Perhaps it could. 

The Herald’s Rest is packed tonight, as any tavern would be on the eve of battle. Tomorrow morning, they’ll be heading off to Adamant fortress to face off against Corypheus’ demon army, against the mad wardens. His brothers and sisters in arms. He should be familiar with it, by now, and perhaps he’s able to distance himself a little more, after everything. 

(It doesn’t make it any easier.) 

By his side, his wife leans over the oak table and regales their companions with tales of her travels-- amusing, serious, crazy. Mostly the funny ones, because it’s what they all need, and she knows that all too well. Still, she’s always been better about letting go than him. She can have fun and drink, where tomorrow, any one of them could never rise again-- a trait so painfully familiar. He snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her a little closer-- Dressed down, now, he can feel her warmth through her linen tunic. Her softness, despite so many years fighting. Maybe it’s motherhood. It makes him smile, and the look she shoots him makes it grow.

“You know,” a blonde elven woman is saying from her place on the table, leaned against the wall. “I like you. You’re fun, for a Warden or whatever.” 

“I try,” Aella replies smugly, crossing her arms. “My job doesn’t allow for a whole lot of fun. Actually, lately, it pretty much sucks, since everyone’s...missing. Stuff was getting fishy, you know? I’ve been in hiding.” 

“Isn’t everyone?” the dwarf-- Varric-- Shoots a glance at another table, where his otherwise silent friend is drinking with the suspicious “Warden” and an equally suspicious hooded man, whose “walking stick” looks more like staff than anything else. A golden beard and long nose is all he can see through the shadows-- familiar, but he can’t place how. Tabris swears she knows him.

“Don’t blame them,” Aella drawls, “The world’s an absolute wreck. Here’s to hoping the Herald can take care of that Magister prick...But Leli seems to have a lot of faith.” She offers that sharp grin, flashing the gap in her teeth from where a hurlock managed to bash out an incisor. He remembers how she swore and spat, and continued fighting like a demon, even while her face bled and bled. 

“If Hawke did it once, I’m sure Fairy can do it again,” The dwarf brightens suddenly, waving to someone behind them. “Speak of the devil-- Fairy! Over here!” 

“Varric!” calls a voice from behind them-- A marcher, by the sound of it, though it’s accented, lilting just a bit. “Packed tonight. Sorry I’m late, Solas had a... thing to show me.” 

“You missed out on quite the story,” Varric says as he scoots over, making room for a willowy elven woman. As she settles, she shoots the both of them a smile. “This is...The Hero of Ferelden, and Teyrn--” 

“--Just Loghain,” he cuts in, regarding her. She’s Dalish-- green vallaslin lining her cheeks and forehead, coming down from her lips and branching down her throat. Her eyes are large and bright, an unearthly sort of green, like pieces of the fade caught in them. 

“Mirre Lavellan,” She says to the both of them, grinning at Aella and offering a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Leliana has spoken very highly of you.” Tabris takes it, shaking firmly. 

“I-- Well, all of us, really-- owe you one. Thank you doesn’t begin to cover it. You’re a brave one.” 

“I try,” Mirre replies, chuckling. “--So, I hear I missed a good story. Perhaps we could hear it again.” 

“Don’t encourage her,” Loghain groans, but Aella is leaning against the wall, and propping her boots on the table. 

“Well, it all started with...” It’s all Loghain can do not to sigh aloud. 

 

~

It turns out that Aella did, in fact, know the mysterious hooded man. Towards the end of the night, she approaches him, only to find out that it’s one of her former companions-- an escaped Circle mage and Warden-turned-Rebel; Anders. He’s incognito, they discover, because of the incident in Kirkwall. His companion, Hawke, says as much in hushed tones, their severe brows furrowing. Aella has to reassure them that she means him no harm. 

Of course, meeting such an acquaintance requires an amount of privacy. They all end up in Hawke’s lodgings, sharing a bottle of complimentary bottle of Antivan cognac. 

“I have a friend who’d love this stuff,” Aella is lounging on a couch with Loghain, while Hawke and Anders sit on the edge of their bed, far more relaxed now they’re away from the prying eyes of the pub. 

“Funny, I think I do, too,” Anders says, swirling his glass. He looks an echo of the healthy mage Loghain had seen at the Keep near ten years ago, his beard wild and his eyes tired, clearly worn thin from so many years. Still, according to Hawke, better than he was a few years previously. He can imagine the same can be said of himself-- now reaching his 64th year, he looked more worn than ever (despite how Aella insisted, each and every morning, how handsome he was). 

“I doubt we’re thinking of the same person. Although Zevran did mention meeting the lot of you a few years back. So perhaps we are.” Tabris rolls her shoulders in a shrug, and then purses her lips. “Why didn’t you write, Anders? I was worried sick!” 

“Well, mostly I was afraid of being dragged back into the Wardens. It didn’t suit me a bit.” he drawls, leaning against Hawke’s shoulder. 

“...Fair enough. Although...10 years, and not a word? The only way I knew you were alive was because Howe reported back. And then Zev mentioned meeting you.” she heaves a sigh, her tone softening. “What ever happened to Justice? They went missing, too...” It’s amazing how much a mother hen Aella becomes when talking to old friends. Anders just looks sheepish, brows furrowing.

“Funny you should mention that. We...kind of....well, fused...” he trails off, shooting a glance at Hawke, who thus far has been mostly quiet. They squeeze his hand, and then regard the two wardens. 

“They were fused together, but we haven’t heard from Justice since Kirkwall. They disappeared.” Hawke’s dark brows furrow. “We don’t know what happened to them. It appears their purpose has either been completed and they are gone, or they now lay dormant.” Aella looks tense while she receives the news, and then saddened. 

“I suppose....that makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it?” She leans back, eyes closing. “I wish I’d gotten the chance to say goodbye to either of you, but...at least you’re not dead.” 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t sound apologetic as he does tired-- tired, but fond. Wistful, almost. Aella offers a tired smile in return, leaning forward and patting his knee. 

“I understand why you did it. I missed you, Anders, and I hope you’re keeping well.” her expression goes soft. “I wish you the best, I really do...and you ought to know that you could come back whenever you wanted. You’re always welcome, and we’re always in need of a good healer.” 

“Afraid I’m taken, now.” 

“Ach, well. It was worth a try.” she cracks a grin, reaching to refill her glass. “Anyways. A final drink to friends found again?”

“To friends found again.” 

~

They don’t get back into their quarters until the wee hours of morning, and Loghain can feel the exhaustion in his bones. He’s getting too old to do this sort of thing, and he knows Aella is too-- she nearly falls asleep even as they walk, unable to fight the lion-like yawns that come with every few minutes. 

When they reach their quarters, she strips down to her smalls almost immediately, collapsing on the furs of the bed and groaning softly, small form curling up. Loghain joins her a moment later, in naught but a pair of loose pants, wrapping his arms around her. In the back of his mind, the false Calling intones sickly sweet melodies, and he knows she can hear it, too. It’s a promise, impending doom that comes closer with each passing day. It makes him pull her more tightly against his chest, burying his face into the crook of her neck; worry for their children back home. Her heartbeat calms him, a slow and steady thud in her chest, a reminder-- she’s still alive, she will be for longer yet than he. Then again, who knows what Adamant could bring. 

“I love you,” he murmurs into her neck, and she hums a sleepy reply, her fingers lacing with his wide, calloused ones; presses a kiss into scarred knuckles. 

“I love you, too,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand. She shifts in his arms, turning to face him, and presses a soft kiss to his forehead, then his mouth. “Whatever comes, I will always love you.” 

“And I, you.” 

They fall asleep in each other’s arms, wrapped in blankets and pressed flush together, warm skin against warm skin for what could well be the last time. 


End file.
